


Alone

by DollopheadedMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Blind Character, Deaf Character, Gen, Head Injury, Trauma, Whump, burnt eyes, deaf and blind character, merlin whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A terrible fate renders Merlin isolated from the world around him. His only hope in reconnecting with anyone is through Arthur's determination. However, the king's faith in Merlin wavers, making him reluctant to aid in his recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been his only option. Trapped at a cliff’s edge, Morgana and her men steadily approaching, there was nothing else he could do. Powerful magic and an advantage on the field were too much even for the knights of Camelot. They pushed on anyway, desperately trying to keep Morgana’s forces at bay. But Merlin knew that, if he didn’t do something, they would either be brought to their knees or driven over the cliff to their deaths.

He had no other choice.

Just as the men began to outflank them, closing them in on all sides, Merlin paused, taking a long, suspiring breath, standing amidst the battle at the cliff’s edge. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for what could very easily be his end. When he opened them again, Arthur’s eyes were on him, worriedly and confusedly staring back at him, obviously wondering why his faithful friend had stopped himself in the midst of an onslaught.

Merlin looked woefully back at his king, knowing that he was about to put his fate in his hands. He tried to show in his face how sorry he was, how utterly he wished he had always had this man to confide in, how desperately he admired Arthur for all of the small steps he’d made in disproving his father’s beliefs. Even the tiniest of admittances made Merlin’s heart flutter; the way Arthur had occasionally trusted a sorcerer in a time of need or the little known comments he made when questioning Uther’s upbringing. However, all of that seemed so pointless now. Merlin knew, despite talk and demeanor, that Arthur cared for him and that, a revelation like this just might harden his heart, just as it did with Morgana.

He tore his eyes away and spotted Morgana ahead of her men, raging havoc upon the knights. Then, he said a few simple words and his eyes burned gold like the sun.  _“Ábrecan agéfon.”_

Morgana’s eyes went wide as the ground shook under Merlin’s gaze before the very earth began climbing up her ankle and taking hold of her. Roots and leaves and rocks snaked up her limbs and coiled about her body, pulling her down by Merlin’s will. Screaming accusation and hatred towards Emrys, she did sink into the earth until it swallowed her whole.

And Arthur looked on. He looked on in utter shock as a tree sprouted from her resting place, bark black and leaves grey. He looked on as Merlin lowered his gaze, hands shaking by his side. He looked on with wide, heartbroken eyes as the boy turned to him, sorrow and defeat in his stare, expression void of treacherous hate or accusation. He looked on as his soul, despite all the evidence before him, burned with the knowledge that another had left him, another had become corrupted, another had betrayed him, the most important one of all.

They stayed, eyes locked for an unmeasurable amount of time. The knights about them cheered with confused glee as they overtook the army, completely unaware to what had truly conspired. Most of Morgana’s army had fled whilst Camelot’s knights brought down the foolish remainders.

As the war was won, Arthur’s heart fell apart. It twisted and churned within him, memories of past betrayals flooding back to him. Merlin could see the battle within his king and wished he could aid him as he always had. But he could not. It would be biased of him to argue his own innocence, especially when he himself did not believe himself to be entirely so. He could not assure Arthur of what the future would bring or that his choice was good. He could only stare back at him, speaking apologies with his eyes and acceptance with his stance.

They were trapped, looking back at one another, frozen in time amongst the fray that continued around them. But they were not immune to it. They never were.

Merlin, falling apart inside as he was, had little warning other than the white of Arthur’s eyes. Watching them go wide, he turned to see the rugged form of Agravaine bowel into him, forcing him back as he ran pass.

He looked back to Arthur, his king, his master, his friend, and watched him as he fell, tipping slowly back as though the gods were granting him one last, prolonged look at the person he admired most. The king ran forwards, peering over the ledge and down at Merlin’s eyes. They were blue and mortal and looking back in that understanding way that they always had in the past. They were vibrant and vigorously conveying his loyalty. They were there, existing before Arthur eyes until the boy’s head came down upon a protruding ledge and he began to spin and flail limply down the rest of the fall before landing dully on the ground a distance below.

Arthur stood there, shock stunning his muscles. Merlin was lost. Emotions of woe and odd relief flooded through him. He stepped away, numb. Merlin hadn’t died. Merlin had left. Another man replaced his friend in those final moments. Some vile, sorcerer came and fell in the battle. Merlin was gone. Merlin was missing. Merlin, the most loyal and understanding man he had ever befriended, did not have magic. He was good. He was Merlin. Merlin was gone, fled from existence as if afraid of the light in his body’s eyes. Merlin wasn’t dead. He was simply gone and his body destroyed.

 

 

“Where is Merlin, sire?”

Arthur looked up from his plate untouched and food uneaten. “What?”

“I haven’t seen him since you returned last night,” were Gaius’s words.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied, looking blankly back at the man.

“No one else seems to either,” the physician sighed. “I fear he might still be out there.”

Arthur looked back down at his food. Merlin was here. Merlin was in his meal that he couldn’t eat. He was in the bath that he didn’t draw. He was in the silence that filled the room. But he was gone.

“No,” Arthur denied.

“I’m sorry?” Gaius questioned.

“He’s not there.”

“You have seen him, then?”

“No.”

“You know where he is?”

“No. No, but he’s not there. And he is not here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s gone.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere, Gaius,” Arthur answered, looking back up at him with an expressionless face.

A foreign look of loss spread over the old man’s eyes. “He’s—“

“No,” Arthur cut him off. “No, he is just gone.”

Gaius closed his mouth, believing to have understood the answer. Resigned, he left the room with a soft, “I understand, sire.”

Arthur blinked at the closed door, hit with the knowledge that Gaius had known. It was obvious and yet it hurt. The surrogate father believed that his boy had been banished but the truth was far more disturbing. The wizened doctor would go searching for his ward and find nothing in his place, an empty shell of a sorcerer who forced Merlin out.

The king stood and called a meeting with the round table. The old man needed his closure and Arthur was not a man to keep it from him.

 

 

It was strange that no one else had seen Merlin take flight off of the cliff, that no one else had seen his eyes turn a molten gold. When the knights were told to search for his body and tell no one of their mission, they had taken up the task in mournful pride. Each of them had glassy eyes and shaking limbs but they carried on nonetheless, dutifully serving Merlin as they would their king.

 

 

The speckled contrast of bodies moving in the courtyard beckoned him from his room. He met with the knights on the flagstones below.

“We found him sire!” Leon called down from his horse, nodding to what Gwaine had cradled in his arms.

“We need Gaius,” the knight said hoarsely.

“What?”

“Arthur,” Elyan said, “he’s alive.”

 

 

Percival had found him, motionless on the ground and as good as dead. He was lying on an angle; neck stretched out and chin in the air. One arm was at his side and the other was strewn out above his head. His eyes stared blankly out at the sky, the sun shining into them, making them glow under the blinding light. His mouth was parted and, when the knight went to shut the eyes of the deceased, he stopped, able to feel a faint breath on his wrist. Calling the other men over to aid him, they hefted him up and carried him home.

 

 

“Has he woken yet?” Arthur questioned, feeling unwanted in the room he used to be able to stride into with pride.

“He’s in his room,” Gaius answered. “He hasn’t stirred.”

“Is he alright?”

“I know not,” the physician said. “He was lucky to not get very injured in his fall. A broken arm and a few ribs at best. However, the wound on his head worries me. I cannot tell its affects until he wakes.”

“May I see him?”

“I need to do my rounds, actually,” Gaius admitted as he rose from his seat. “If you could get him to drink this if he wakes, that would be helpful.”

Arthur took a small remedy from him. He could hear the concern and the relaxed relief in the elder’s voice. He thought Arthur was being forgiving. No, he didn’t know what he was doing. He did not know who was in the room beyond that door. Merlin didn’t have magic. This man did. Though his name may be the same, the corrupted mind could not be his Merlin. Whenever the boy turned to such evil deeds was when he was lost. The Merlin he knew was his friend. Whoever was left was a stranger.

He settled into the stool by his bedside and looked down at the placid face before him. There were bandages wrapped about his brow and a sling was visible beneath the blankets. The familiar face was so calm and so knowable. He felt his nerves and his sorrows well up inside, but he pushed them down. To appear to be Merlin was not to be him.

“You shouldn’t have lived,” Arthur said quietly to the invalid. “You’re not right. Merlin should be here, but he can’t be.” He placed the vial on the nightstand before leaning forwards in his chair. “Why would you take Merlin? Magic doesn’t need Merlin. Merlin is good and now he is gone, a new man, a new monster in his body. You pushed him out and now we’re here.”

The body said nothing back to him. Arthur grabbed at his good wrist.

“Wake up,” he ordered.

The body did nothing under his grip.

“Wake up,” he spat, squeezing and shaking his arm.

The body did not move.

“Wake up!” he shouted, letting go before bringing his fist down on the man’s chest. He let out a stout cry of pain before wheezing and turning onto his side. He brought his hand up to feel Arthur’s fist, holding it in place against his chest. Arthur could feel the suddenly rapid beat of the heart behind bruised ribs. He tugged away but the hand would not loosen. Finally he yanked it out of its grip, breathing heavily and finding that he had stood up during his struggle.

The wounded man groped at the air and Arthur realized that his eyes had slid open, looking wildly about and seeing nothing. He approached again and took his stray hand. He helped him into a sitting position, trying not to look at the way the eyes searched for him, never to find anything.

“It’ dark,” he muttered in a foolish voice.

“You’re blind,” Arthur stated, adjusting the pillows.

He picked up the remedy and held it to the patient’s mouth. The man felt the cool glass against his lip and jumped slightly, turning his head away.

“Drink it,” Arthur told him, trying again to make him take his medicine. However, he simply turned his head further into the wall.

“Wha’ is it?”

“Gaius made it for you,” Arthur assured. “It’s fine.” He tried again.

“No.” He held up his hand in refusal.

“You need it to get better.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s going to help, you idiot,” Arthur argued.

“Plea’” the boy muttered, suddenly looking extremely lost.

“What?” Arthur stopped.

“Plea’, plea’, no.” He brought his hand to his ear and pressed his palm into his lobe. His brow wrinkled in woe as he continued to pat his ear. “Can’t hear. No, no. Arthur . . . where is Arthur? Who are you? Who am I with?”

The king froze. The man before him was deaf and blind, stricken unteachable by his fall. Merlin had been a strangely wise man. Merlin had left. Now he was dumb. The being before him knew neither where he was nor who he was with. He never would. There was no way of telling him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur said pointlessly, bringing the vial to his lips again.

The boy jumped but did not resist this time. He took the potion and sat back against his pillows. Arthur replaced the container on the nightstand and looked into the boy’s eyes as they twitched about, trying to see but finding nothing. They were red rimmed and glassy. He watched as the poor man’s brow furrowed and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

Arthur swallowed and stood, looking down at the person who would remain forever alone. But then, Gaius opened the door and saw his ward sitting up and awake.

“Merlin!” he gasped, rushing forwards.

“Don’t,” Arthur warned him, stepping between the man and the boy he thought a son.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“He’s simple, Gaius,” he informed.

“How so?”

“He is . . . he’s blind and—and deaf alike.”

“Oh, my boy,” Gaius whispered to himself. “Does he know where he is?”

“No.”

“Who he’s with?”

“No.”

“I must examine him,” Gaius stated. “Have you found a way to calm him?”

“He’s upset,” Arthur cautioned.

Gaius looked pass his king to see Merlin softly crying, small noises escaping his lips that he’s unaware of.

“I will try to counsel him,” Gaius said. “Would you stay here in case I need something?”

“Of course.”

Arthur stood aside and let Gaius sit next to his ward. He watched as the boy jumped at the feel of a new hand on his arm. Slowly, the old man gained Merlin’s trust, though he still seemed unaware of who exactly was examining him. The physician tested Merlin’s ears, snapping his fingers and prodding around at the bruises on his head. Then, Merlin let him look at his eyes, testing them in candle light and evaluating their appearance.

“He still hasn’t figured out where he is, I’m afraid,” Gaius informed.

“And?”

“He’s a bit delirious from a severe head injury, which appears to be the cause of his deafness.”

“His sight as well?”

“No,” Gaius said, matter-of-factly. “Because of the head trauma, he was unable to move for quite some time. The knights said that, when they found him, his eyes were open and unseeing. My belief is that his eyes were burnt in the sun, being unable to look away.”

“Would he have been conscious during this?” Arthur questioned with a morbid curiosity.

“It would be likely, yes,” Gaius confirmed.

Arthur nodded and looked back at the figure slouched over in the bed.

“Sire,” Gaius addressed him, sounding cautious.

Arthur looked to him.

“You are . . . taking this remarkably well.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Gaius said in a strange tone.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’d have thought you’d be . . . more concerned about Merlin’s condition. You’re behaving more . . .”

“Indifferent,” Arthur finished for him, sporting a stern look.

Gaius went rigid before him, eyes searching the man’s face for any form of sympathy left for his friend. As the king left the baffled doctor behind, Gaius realized Arthur’s true nature and his attitude towards his servant. He was done with him.

 

 

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“He’s your friend.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Whether or not you’re his is irrelevant!” Gwen argued. “He’s worried about you despite the fact that it’s you who should be caring for him!”

“I don’t even know him,” Arthur countered, sounding more tired than concerned.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Gwen asked. “You’ve known him for years. You trust him more than anybody.”

“I did,” Arthur agreed. “However, Merlin’s gone.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” Gwen said softy, coming closer. “He’s scared and in pain, but I’m sure we can find a way to communicate with him.” She placed her hand on her husband’s shoulders soothingly. “He needs you.”

For the first time since Merlin was brought home, Arthur seemed to consider this. As his wife rubbed comfort into his arms, he let memories of the Merlin he thought he knew seep back into his head.

Suddenly, Arthur shrugged Gwen off of him, stepping away. Every time he thought of Merlin, it always led to the same damned memory; the few revealing moments before he fell of the cliff, when Arthur’s world went spiraling out of order.

“Arthur?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me to.”

“He has magic.”

Gwen stopped, mouth frozen over a half formed word. She looked at the betrayed way that Arthur cast his eyes away and watched his Adams apple bob as he swallowed his loss. Magic had hurt Arthur in many ways. It made sense to her now why he would turn Merlin away, especially now that it was so easy, not having to face the look in his eyes.

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“What?”

“Merlin would never hurt you,” Gwen stated, squaring her shoulders and speaking firmly. “You know that, I know you do.”

“You don’t get it,” Arthur muttered. “Merlin isn’t Merlin anymore.”

“If you had the decency to visit him, you’d know that he is.”

“He’s not. He’s been corrupted by magic.”

“He _needs_ you, Arthur!”

“I can’t!”

“He’s stopped talking! From his perspective, he’s alone in the world!”

“And what am I meant to do about that?”

“Help him!”

“And you think that I am somehow more qualified than Gaius to do that?”

“Together, I have seen nothing the two of you cannot accomplish!”

“I can’t! Gwen, I can’t!” Arthur shouted, turning on his heel as glaring down at Gwen.

“Why not?” she asked. But then she froze. Arthur had bowed his head and, when he spoke again, it was with a low, broken voice.

“How can I face the man who replaced him?” he asked. “Merlin is gone. Magic took him from me.”

“No,” Gwen corrected. “I do not think that magic has tainted Merlin in any way. He is the same boy he was before. Only now, he is lost. He needs you to find his way.”

“If he truly is the same man,” Arthur croaked, looking up into Gwen’s eyes, his own bloodshot and teary, “then how am I meant to face the man I left for dead?”

“Oh, Arthur,” Gwen gasped, enveloping him in a hug.

The king sunk into her, crying into her shoulder. Still, the line between Merlin and magic was an obstacle, but now he was not so sure how tangible it truly was.

 

 

Arthur didn’t know what he expected but Gaius, haggard and looking like death on two feet was not it. The man appeared to have abandoned all care for his own health in favor of treating his ward. His hair was unkempt and his eyes seemed heavy with lack of sleep. He stood hunched in the doorway to Merlin’s room, looking out at Arthur with a stunned expression.

“I must apologize,” Arthur stated. “I should be here, helping.”

“You are a very busy man,” Gaius retorted.

“That I am,” Arthur agreed, guilt swelling in his heart.

“I do not blame you if it were simply because you did not have the time,” the old man said. His words said things that his tone did not.

“Perhaps,” Arthur said, stepping further into the main room, “but something as important as this should have time donated to it.”

“Do you truly think this?” Gaius questioned, finally stepping down to meet his king.

“Yes.”

Gaius closed his eyes and fondly shook his head with a smile. “Gwen has spoken to you, hasn’t she?”

Arthur grinned. “Yes.”

“You may see him, if you so wish,” Gaius offered.

The king’s stomach churned and he looked over the man’s shoulder at the room beyond. A firm hand clasped his arm as Gaius gave him an encouraging squeeze. Then, with a deep breath, Arthur walked on.

He stopped just within the room, a musty smell carrying the feel of dormancy through him. On the bed, Merlin sat, eyes settled in a loose position that made it look like he was staring down at his bedsheets. He didn’t move, didn’t stir, didn’t know that anyone had entered. His hair was disheveled and his posture was strange, defeated almost.

Arthur slowly made his way into the room and sat in Gaius’s stool beside the bed. Then, he stayed there, looking at Merlin who still thought he was alone. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to make himself known, or how he _wanted_ to make himself known. To finally confront a man who he left disabled and abandoned was so foreign to him.

His eyes caught movement and he saw that Merlin’s hand had begun to work at the blanket, rubbing it in his hand as if to test its softness. At first it seemed strange but then Arthur figured that a man with little senses would take some sort of pleasure in exploring the ones he had left.

It was this that led to Arthur’s choice of introduction, him placing his hand atop of Merlin’s and letting him feel his presence. Merlin paused, startled at the existence of another person in the room, and inspected the hand that was given to him.

Merlin took out his other hand and sandwiched Arthur’s between them. He held the hand closer before whispering, “Hello keeper.”

“What?”

“He calls us that,” Gaius said, causing Arthur to become suddenly aware that he’d been followed into the room. “He’s assumed that we’re all strangers, taking care of him. Naturally, he came up with his own name for us.”

“Has his deliria come to an end?”

“For the most part, yes,” Gaius answered, “though it is difficult to tell for sure considering the loss of one sense, let alone two, can be extremely disorienting. However, it is my belief that, besides the deafness, all mental afflictions caused by his head wound have righted themselves.”

Arthur sighed and looked back at Merlin. He noted that his sling was gone and that the majority of his physical injuries had healed. “He’s recovered well.”

“Indeed,” Gaius agreed.

“I think I will have to come here and visit him more often,” Arthur admitted. “You look like you could use the help.”

Gaius bowed his head. “I would be grateful for it,” he thanked.

“Is there anything that needs to be done as of now?”

“In fact,” Gaius replied, standing up straighter and wondering from the room, “I will be needing to check up on the lady Meredith. The birth took a toll on her and she does need her medicine.”

“And what shall I be doing whilst you are gone?” Arthur asked as he followed him out.

“Serve him dinner,” Gaius instructed as he gathered his things. “He can eat food on his own but, as you can imagine, he needs help finding it.”

Arthur huffed. “Yes, I can see that.”

“The soup is on the fire,” Gaius told him, “and there’s bread in the cupboard. You may want to walk him down to the bench to eat.”

“Will do,” Arthur said.

“And Arthur;” Gaius added, door open and ready to depart, “keep him company.”

“I will,” Arthur promised before Gaius smiled and shut the door.

 

 

The table set and the meal prepared, Arthur wondered back into Merlin’s room. Again, the boy was running his hands along the blankets, seeming to have found a loose thread and wound it about his little finger. Arthur stopped him by placing gentle hands on his shoulders. Then he tapped on the boy’s legs and guided him into a standing position. Merlin muttered his thanks as he was walked carefully down the stairs. Getting him into the chair was mildly more difficult. Merlin mistook one of the arms for the other and nearly tried to sit down on thin air. Arthur adjusted his path, however, and he lowered himself down.

Merlin settled in before placing his palm against the table top. As he searched for the food, Arthur brought it to him, sliding the bowl of soup across the table until it bumped into his outstretched fingers.

“Thank you keeper,” Merlin said as he found the spoon and brought it to his mouth.

Arthur sat in the seat opposite of him and watched him eat. He tried not to see his friend in the blank eyes across from him. Though Gwen’s words moved him, he still was not ready to accept that the man he had handicapped so drastically was truly his dearest friend. To him, it seemed easier to pretend that the real Merlin was lost rather than to accept that he had reduced him to someone so isolated from the rest of the world. If Merlin truly did have magic and was somehow spared by the corruption that overtook his sister, Arthur wouldn’t know what to do with himself, having done such an evil to so good a man.

“Are you still here?”

Merlin’s voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw that the man had paused in his meal. He was hesitant, but reached out his hand to tap Merlin’s, letting him know that he was present.

A small smile crept onto Merlin’s lips and Arthur wondered what he wanted, why he had summoned him when he cannot reply or help Merlin in any way. “You shouldn’t be,” he said finally, sliding his hand out from underneath Arthur’s.

“What?” Arthur said needlessly.

Merlin remained silent for a long moment before he let his hands sink into his lap as he spoke again. “I don’t want to take up your time and your life,” he admitted, voice a bit low and slightly slurred. “You shouldn’t take care of me. There’s no reason to.”

Arthur opened his mouth to retaliate but stopped. Merlin would not hear his objections. Reconcilement was futile. So, he stood and walked round the table until he was at Merlin’s side. There, he placed his hand on his shoulder, not knowing what else could possibly be done. 

“No,” Merlin uttered, shrugging him off and turning his body away.

“Merlin, I . . .” Arthur started, reaching for him again. He clasped both shoulders this time and turned him so that he might lay eyes upon his face. Merlin drew his shoulders up to his ears to shy away but Arthur caught a glance at how he had screwed his eyes shut and hidden a woeful grimace. Stepping away, he saw how his hands had been balled up into fists and the way he physically drew into himself.

So, Arthur stepped away. He sat down in a nearby chair and watched him. Throughout all the time he spent sitting there, Merlin hardly moved. He could hear the boy’s breathing, the way it seemed as though he were trying to hide the fact that he was holding back tears but was failing to do so, on the account that he could not hear himself. He saw how he shook, how he clenched his entire body because he hated how much of a burden he was to the world.

Gaius returned to Arthur, staring at Merlin’s hunched form with a blank expression and a lost look in his eyes. The old man’s gaze followed to Merlin and, when he saw the state he was in, he immediately set down his things. “I was hoping he wouldn’t do this tonight,” he said.

Arthur looked up at that. “He’s done this before?”

“He says such terrible things about himself,” Gaius said absentmindedly as he rushed to his ward’s side. “This is why I have been trying to remind him of where he is.”

“What have you tried?”

“I have walked him around the room,” Gaius explained as he placed his hands on Merlin’s arms and led him into a standing stance. “I’ve fed him his favorite meals. He just seems too distracted.”

“By what?”

“Well,” Gaius continued as he walked Merlin back towards his room, the boy remaining stubbornly silent, “I suppose your banishment.”

“Banishment?” Arthur questioned.

Gaius stopped at the foot of the small stairs. “You did banish him, milord?”

Arthur stared back at him open mouthed, eyes glistening with his lies.

“If you did not banish him,” Gaius said as he took a few steps away from Merlin, “then how is it that this has become of him?”

“Gaius, I . . .” Arthur stammered. “Gaius, I can’t.”

For the first time since he had met the man, Gaius seemed angry. He quickly composed himself, however, and looked pitifully back at his king. “I have been the one taking care of Merlin,” he said in a warm, calm voice. “However, it is clear to me now that he is more a burden to you than he is to me.”

With that, he continued to lead Merlin into his chambers, leaving Arthur alone in the main room whilst he prepared the invalid for bed.


	2. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur does his best to convey his thoughts to Merlin.

Arthur began to visit Merlin more frequently after that, being sure to at least stop by once a day, if not more so. He did little but sit beside him and let his presence be known. Merlin all the while could do little to appreciate it. Mostly, he would stay silent, save for mumbled thanks and small greetings. Other days he would talk about himself in a way that no human should ever think to, speaking of burdens and worthlessness. It ate at Arthur’s heart. Still unsure if the Merlin he was left with was the same one he knew, his helplessness caused a battle to rage on inside of his head between the part of him that wished to have his friend back and the part of him that wanted nothing to do with the man.

“How has he been?” Arthur asked one early morning as he strode into the room.

“He has been calmer these past few days,” Gaius informed.

“That’s good, is it not?”

“I could be a sign that he is adjusting,” Gaius replied.

“But?”

“But,” he continued, “it may also be a sign that he is further withdrawing from reality.”

“Allow me the leniency to hope for the best?” Arthur suggested, trying to remain lighthearted at the early hour.

“I hope for us all,” Gaius agreed, setting breakfasts on the table.

“Is he still resting?” Arthur questioned.

“Yes!” Gaius confirmed cheerfully. “It’s the longest he’s slept in a while now. Last I checked on him, he was sound asleep.”

“That’s good,” Arthur said. “I would never wish anything against his health. However, I do hope he wakes before I must leave for the knighting this morning.”

“I’m sure he’ll be up by then.”

“Good,” Arthur huffed. “He’s good luck.”

“Is he?”

“It seems so,” Arthur joked. “Whenever I see him when he is fare, little goes wrong during the day.”

“Perhaps,” Gaius suggested, “seeing him do well simply lifts your spirits.”

Arthur’s mind seemed to pause at the comment. “I suppose it does,” he said warmly, having forgotten what it felt like to have his friend bestow wisdom upon him during those odd moments in past.

Suddenly there was a muffled thump from Merlin’s chambers and they both stopped to hear it. A short break in time, and they heard it again. Arthur and Gaius looked to each other in worry before they followed the next low thud into his room.

“Merlin!” Gaius called out as he found his ward awake in bed, hand muffling his hysterics and head banging against the wall behind him.

The old man rushed in to try and calm the rocking boy. But Merlin just kept thrusting the back of his head into the wall with the force of his sorrows. Arthur, all the while, stood frozen by the door, watching in horror as the man he thought was recovering fought against his physician. His mind went numb with the sound of Merlin’s mumblings, incoherent rants of how pointless it was for him to be there. He heard his own name amongst the slurred words and they made his heart clench.

The sight of blood on Gaius’s hand jolted Arthur back into action and he leapt to his side to help calm the frantic boy. He kneeled on the bed and put himself between Merlin and the wall so he could hurt himself no longer. As Merlin mumbled and thrashed, Arthur enveloped him, pinning his arms to his sides, leaving only his bucking legs to the fit.

Arthur watched as Merlin slowly gave in, body going slack save for the rapid, sorrow filled breaths that racked his frame. He looked down at the distraught face pressed against his chest, eyes drooped and red with tears. A cold feeling on his chin made him aware of his own tears, unchecked during the struggle. Holding Merlin upright with one arm and whipping away the tears with his other, he looked to Gaius. The old man stepped forwards and took Merlin’s weight so that Arthur may come off the bed. He did so and stood to the side, watching as Merlin’s surrogate father set him back into a sitting position.

“Gaius,” Arthur spoke out after a long, drawn out silence between them, nothing but Merlin’s involuntary moans and hums filling the room.

Gaius, however, did not hear him, his voice having been so small and his ward in such desperate need of care.

“Gaius,” Arthur said more urgently, his voice wavering.

The physician turned and looked at his king expectantly. When he saw the internal battle taking place within Arthur’s eyes, he stood up and said, “I will tend to him for the remainder of the day, milord.”

“Thank you,” Arthur croaked before leaving the room, entirely shaken by his friend’s outburst. He tried to keep himself calm as he walked, fast paced, through the corridors. He tried to tell himself that Merlin would be alright, that his friend was still in there somewhere. But there was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind, tearing him away from hope, feeding lies to him, telling him that magic had done this, that magic had damaged Merlin forever and would never let him free.

He slammed the doors to his chambers shut and closed out the world to his worries. He had a servant bring him a wash bowl and he rinsed his face in cool water. He insisted that he would dress himself for the knighting ceremony. He attended, stone faced and lock footed as he dubbed his newest men. He spent the entire rest of his day trying not to think about Merlin. However, even when the boy was vacant from his thoughts, he was still there, a lingering sadness in the emptiness left behind.

 

 

The room was still and dark when he entered the next morning. After investigating, he found that Gaius had retired for the night and had not yet woken. With little debate, he decided not to disturb the old man and walked slowly up to the chamber beyond.

To his surprise, Merlin was sitting up, head turned towards the open window. For a moment, Arthur’s mind stalled. At first glance it seemed as though the boy could see, gazing out at the greying sky. But he was not. As Arthur stepped closer, he too could feel the breeze that swept through the air. He turned and saw that the window was ajar. He wondered over and closed it.

“Hello, keeper,” Merlin said in a small, apologetic voice.

Arthur faced him, heart throbbing at the site of him. A stirring nervousness inside his gut that made him want to flee like the coward he felt like. But he did not. Instead, he followed the pull in his chest and rested his hand on Merlin’s arm to greet him.

Oddly, Merlin hummed at the touch, taking up his other hand and placing it over Arthur’s. The king looked down at it and, after a few moments, felt Merlin squeeze his fingers. “I am sorry,” he said, bowing his head in shame. He slid Arthur’s hand off until it fell away. “I am much of a burden as it is. I should not have caused you so much trouble last night.”

Unable to give Merlin a response, Arthur took a deep breath and sat down on edge of the bed beside him.

“I was . . .” Merlin began, pausing for a moment to smile at his own folly, “feeling the breeze. There’s a window and I thought . . . for a moment I thought that I could hear the wind.”

A lump formed in Arthur’s throat, a painful one. He wished so much that he could make amends, apologize at the very least, but there was no way of conveying anything to this man.

“I want to tell you something,” Merlin said, shifting slightly on the bed. “After all, you have been so kind to me when I do not deserve it.”

Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder in reassurance but the boy shrugged it off.

“No,” he objected. “No, please. Just listen.” He took a deep breath and bowed his head before beginning his tale. “I was born in Ealdor, son of Hunith and . . . I was a bastard child. Fathers and mothers would not let their children play with me. If I did speak to anyone, I was met with slurs and other awful things. The only reason I ever found a friend was because Will was unsupervised. His father had died and his widower mother had to run the house and the fields so he was on his own a lot. However, my birth was not the only reason for people to have hate for me.” He took a shuddering breath. “There were rumors, started by one of our neighbors who helped my mother when she was in labor, that . . . He told those in our village that, for a moment, when I was born, I . . . I was born with eyes of gold.”

Arthur’s breath caught at that. Merlin was born with magic. The Merlin he met had magic. The Merlin he grew to trust had magic. The Merlin that had become his dearest friend had magic.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered after a long moment of silence.

Arthur looked at his quizzically, his mind still churning with the newfound knowledge. He didn’t realize what Merlin was thanking him for. But then he saw the way his eyes were downcast, looking at nothing but portraying his sorrow nonetheless. Merlin had been afraid that the person caring for him would have him killed.

“They say it’s impossible; to be born with magic. I’m just the exception, I suppose. I didn’t know it was so strange when I was young. I didn’t understand why I was kept inside or why children were pulled inside their houses to keep safe from me. Magic was allowed in Cenred’s land but sorcerers disappeared in the night and, if you ever saw them again, it was because they were to do the king’s tyrannical bidding. When Will found out, he was . . . indifferent. It was the greatest thing that could have ever happened to me back home. But then my mother found out. She became so afraid for me. The fact that someone knew . . . Her fear only grew with time and, with my powers being so strong . . . even I came to fear them at times. I had no control over them. It eventually became too much. I was nearly found out more than once. So, she . . . sent me to Camelot.

“I know it sounds stupid; sending a sorcerer to Uther’s realm. However, she knew a man named Gaius who worked under the king. He’d practiced sorcery early in his life but had pledged his allegiance to the crown during the Great Purge. Little did the king know he did not believe in the ban on magic.

“He took me in and, from there, I met the prince, Arthur. We got off on the wrong foot but I saved his life and, in turn, his father made me his servant.

“My first few nights in Camelot, my mind was plagued by a powerful voice, beckoning me beneath the castle. I eventually gave in and was met with a mighty dragon, Kilgharrah. It was then that he told me of words whispered between men throughout all of time, a destiny that would unite the kingdoms and bring upon the peaceful realm of Albion. For this to come to pass, I was meant to protect Arthur. Using these unfathomable powers, I was meant to guide the Once and Future king to the throne.

“I hated it. Thought it was hogwash, actually. I thought Prince Arthur was the biggest _prat_ that had ever graced the earth.” He scoffed at his own immaturity. “But I came to respect him. I had to keep by his side, it was my duty . . . but it became more than that. We became friends. I would have laid down my life for him. The gods could have rained down from the sky and spit on my boots for doing so but I would do anything to make sure that he became the king he was destined to be, the king I knew he would be.”

Arthur heard Merlin stifle a cry and he looked over to see a tear rolling down his cheek. The sight made him aware of his own tears, but he did not wipe them away. He deserved the painful woe that welled up inside him.

“And now,” Merlin sobbed, “I . . . Last time I saw him, he . . . he saw me do magic and I fell. I can’t . . . I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. Morgana may be out of the picture but Agravaine is still out there and I . . . I need to know that he’s . . . I can’t live with myself knowing that he might be . . .”

Arthur launched forwards, throwing his arms around Merlin as he wept. “I’m here, Merlin,” he croaked, wishing with all his might that somehow the boy would know it was him. “I’m here. Please, Merlin. I’m alright. I’m so sorry.”

Upon hearing a click, Arthur looked up over Merlin’s shoulder to see Gaius standing in the doorway. Arthur’s face scrunched up in despair looking at the old man, whose son he had condemned to a lifetime of silence and darkness. He brought Merlin closer then and held him tight. Burring himself in the boy’s shoulder, he said, “If I had only come back for you, this would have never happened. I will never make this up to you, Merlin, but, I promise, I will find a way to let you know that you are home.”

 

 

Merlin slept the rest of that day, having been emotionally exhausted. Arthur began to visit less frequently but for longer amounts of time. Merlin would even tell him stories on occasion. The rest of his days were spent performing his kingly duties and trying to come up with a way to communicate with Merlin. He’d even spoken to a few blind and deaf villagers. However, no one produced any results. Those who could not see communicated with their ears and those who could not hear communicated with their eyes. Merlin was detached from the world and there seemed to be little link between him and everyone else.

“I hope this has been of help to you, milord,” said a townswoman who had helped him speak to her deaf son. “It is also very nice for Jason to have visitors. Very few people are able to convey things to him.”

“It was my pleasure,” Arthur said, smiling but feeling somewhat defeated at not finding anything. “I do hope he and Amelia get a chance to meet. She is a lonely girl as well.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” she laughed. “It would be good for them to meet someone with the same problem.”

Arthur grinned and looked back at the boy who had settled down in the grass, a stick in his hand. He looked down at a patch of dirt obstructing the verdant yard. He took the branch and prodded at the dirt, shifting the sand and mud for a moment until the ground was relatively flat. Then, he stuck the stick into the soft soil and dragged it in strange patterns until it resembled a hunting dog, seemingly pointing its nose towards potential prey. Arthur’s smile fell as he pondered these actions. There was something about what the boy was doing that made something in his brain stir.

“Milord?” the woman asked, bringing Arthur out of his wondering.

“Uh, sorry,” he stammered. “You were a great help, really,” he added. Then, he drew some money from his belt and placed it in the woman’s hands.

“Milord! This is too generous! You don’t need to—“

“Keep it,” Arthur said as he began to pace away, not giving her a change to refuse his payment.

 

 

“What stories do we have today?” Arthur asked as he wondered into Merlin’s room. He stopped half way to the bed and sniffed the air. “It smells in here. I’ll think to bring you candles later.”

“Keeper,” Merlin smiled as he felt Arthur near. The king purposeless walked with strength in his step whenever he was with Merlin so that he might guess what direction he was in.

“You never can use my title correctly, can you?” he asked incredibly. “When is the last time you bathed? It reeks like a sailor’s armpit in here.” The king turned and inspected the sheets of Merlin’s bed. “These have to be at least a week old.” He took a corner of the blanket and placed it in Merlin’s hand.

Merlin took it and rubbed it between his fingers. “They need washing,” he said quietly.

“Do you ever listen?” Arthur asked sarcastically. He’d taken up the habit of talking to a deaf man. He took the sheets from the bed and threw them into a basket. “You’re supposed to be the servant, remember?” He tapped Merlin’s arm and motioned for him to stand. “Come on, I’ll get Gaius to put something in your bath to make you smell better. Honestly, you stink like a mule’s backside.”

 

 

“. . . but I didn’t remember any of it,” Merlin told as Gaius sprinkled scented herbs into his bath. “I honestly don’t know how he couldn’t have noticed that I was trying to kill him. I suppose he was just distracted by the traitor. Anyway, I took an aging potion and snuck away into the woods to . . .”

Arthur sat back in his seat by the fire. There was so much about Merlin’s life that he did not know. It were as if there were some parallel life that the boy was living, always doing outlandish things right under Arthur’s nose and somehow never getting caught. It was pure dumb luck and a natural knack for seeming utterly stupid that saved Merlin from the pyre, it seemed.

He listened carefully to Merlin’s tale, yet another adventure he’d had trying to protect the crown and seek no credit. His eyes wondered until they settled on the rim of the little wooden tub, where Merlin’s hand rested against the side, his fingers tracing the grooves in the wood as if he were reading it. Merlin’s story drifted away from his mind as he watched. With his sight and his hearing gone, Merlin lived primarily through touch. He felt the presence of those who were with him and read the patterns in woods carvings like they were pictures painted on his fingertips. Arthur’s mouth fell open as he realized the key to uniting Merlin with the world again.

“Arthur, are you alright?” Gaius asked over Merlin’s hum of words.

The king looked up at him, eyes wide, and said, “Get him out of the tub. Get him dressed. I know how to speak to him!”

 

 

And so a bewildered Merlin was quickly gathered up by a bemused Gaius, seated hastily in a chair by the hearth.

“What . . . What’s happening?” he asked.

“What are you going to do?” Gaius questioned as he watched Arthur draw up a chair beside his friend.

“You’ll see.” He thought of the boy with the stick in the dirt from earlier in the day as he grabbed at Merlin’s wrist.

Merlin startled and pulled his hands away, eyes going wide. They were in such a rush to test Arthur’s methods that they failed to realize how concerned Merlin was by all the commotion. Slowly, Arthur laid a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder to show that all was well. Then, he took up his other hand and brought Merlin’s wrist out.

“What . . .” Merlin murmured, at a loss as to what was happening.

Arthur looked at him in wonder for a moment, hoping with all his might that, for the first time since he had betrayed Merlin, he would be able to answer him.

He placed his fingers on Merlin’s palm and spread them out until both their hands were flowered and firmly placed atop one another’s. He held it there for a moment, looking up into Merlin’s unseeing eyes that were glistening with the ominous thrill of what was happening to him. Then, he lightly pulled his hand away and Merlin kept his palm presented to him. Finally, he took his pointed finger and wrote out the letters across his palm that spelt, _You are with Arthur._

There was a pause in which Merlin looked confused. Arthur held his breath as he studied him, pleading to whatever god would listen that it would work.

Merlin brought his other hand to his mouth to muffle a cry. Both from the shock of knowing another person’s words and the idea that Arthur was the one beside him made his mind stutter and his heart hammer.

Arthur crushed him in a hug that held the strength and warmth of a thousand men within it. Merlin wailed as he clung onto him, sputtering out apologies and woes and doubts he had had. He rambled into the king’s shoulder about how wrong the world felt and how stupid he was for getting lost and how thankful he was that he had found him. Arthur stopped and took hold of Merlin’s hand again, prompting the boy to eagerly splay out his palm once more.

 _I am so sorry Merlin. I should not have left you._ He paused and felt the boy’s hand shaking beneath his. _You were never lost Merlin. I am sorry. You have always been home._ Merlin began to shake his head, a frightful look on his face. _You are home. You are in Camelot,_ Arthur spelled more quickly.

“I’ve been here this whole time,” Merlin whispered through the wetness of his sorrow. His frame was racked with a sob and Arthur pulled him in again.

 _I am so sorry,_ he wrote into Merlin’s back. _I did not know how I could speak to you._

Arthur waited for a response. But none came. Merlin simply clutched onto him more tightly as Gaius sat beside them, in awe at Arthur’s clever solution. It was something so simple. They had been looking too vigorously. Sometimes the largest problems have the smallest solutions.


	3. Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin begins to learn more about coping with his disabilities.

It took Merlin a while to get used to the fact that he was, indeed, home. For a while he had moments of doubt, thinking dangerous thoughts involving the possibility of a lying keeper or his own delirium. After much emotional trauma, he recovered and began to better adapt to his new method of communicating.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked one late morning as he strode into the room. Merlin was sitting at the bench beside Gaius and oddly had his hand stretched open over his mentor’s mouth.

“Sire,” Gaius said through Merlin’s fingers. “Perhaps Merlin would like to tell you himself.”

Merlin beamed after a short moment, eyes sparkling with joy as if he had heard Gaius’s words. “Gaius is teaching me how to read lips,” he explained, having guessed exactly what he had been prompted to do.

Arthur’s eyes when wide and he hurried to sit beside the two. “How is it working?”

“Well,” Gaius hummed through Merlin’s digits, “I started out by writing what I was saying into one hand whilst he felt my lips with his other. Now, I’m fairly certain he should soon be able to read any man’s words from but a touch of the mouth.”

Merlin grinned, having understood what Gaius had said.

“May I try?” Arthur asked.

“That’s up to Merlin,” Gaius answered.

This time, Merlin’s brow knitted up and he turned his head towards where he thought Arthur was sitting. Arthur smiled and repeated the question, this time spelling it onto Merlin’s shoulder. The boy turned so quickly in his seat that Arthur nearly forgot he was blind. Before he knew it, Merlin’s palm was to his lips and he held it close hesitantly.

“Simply talk as you would normally,” Gaius advised.

Arthur nodded and swallowed. “Hello, Merlin.”

Merlin grinned like a child as he answered, “Hello!” his voice wistful and light hearted.

Arthur let out a throaty laugh and Merlin laughed back upon feeling it vibrate up his throat. Gaius smiled and took Merlin’s other hand, bringing it to his own mouth. “Merlin has been showing great skill in physical memorization, as well.”

“What do you mean?”

Arthur caught Merlin smile at his obliviousness.

“He is able to walk about the room, having memorized its layout. I feel as though, with his remaining senses heightened, he may very well be able to do so with the majority of the castle.”

“You’re serious?” Arthur asked, his brow going up in shock.

“Indeed.”

Arthur looked to Merlin again, wondering if it were truly in his best interest to have such a disabled man wondering the castle without aid. But then he saw the look on Merlin’s face. Though blind, his eyes could still shine with the warmth and want of being himself again. Arthur could not deny him that.

“Well let’s get started, then,” Arthur huffed, bringing Merlin to his feet, whilst holding his hand in place. “Merlin, get your boots on. They’re by the stairs. We’re going to take a little stroll.”

Merlin muttered something too quiet to hear and pulled away from Arthur towards his room. He found his way effortlessly to the stairs and groped around for his boots. Arthur silently laughed as Merlin searched the wrong side of the stairs before he eventually ventured over to where his shoes were. He sat down on the bottom step and tugged them on.

“Arthur,” Gaius addressed him, gaining his attention, “do be sure to keep an eye on him. He’s been in this room for months.”

“I understand that, Gaius,” Arthur assured.

“It will be strange for him to relearn the castle. That, and I fear your people may be judgmental of him.”

“On what grounds?”

“Well,” Gaius said softly, “many people believe that the ability to hear and to see is directly connected to the ability to learn. Many may think him daft just by glance. I advise you to keep him close.”

Arthur’s expression turned serious for a moment. “Of course, Gaius.”

Merlin joined them then, jacket shrugged into place and boots snug on his feet. _Ready?_ Arthur spelled into Merlin’s shoulder.

“Ready,” Merlin replied with a nod, jittering with excitement.

Arthur took his arm and they ventured out the door. Merlin seemed to be concentrating on what his feet were doing, as if he were feeling out unsteady ground. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Arthur held his hand to his lips again.

“Where to first?”

“Your chambers.”

Arthur froze for a moment. “Why?” he questioned.

“So I know the way,” Merlin elaborated. “You never _did_ sack me, you know. I intend to go back to work.”

Arthur stopped Merlin and himself from walking onwards.

“What?” Merlin questioned.

“Merlin,” Arthur said carefully, “I don’t know how you expect to . . .”

“I won’t be able to do everything, obviously,” Merlin interrupted. “But, once I walk around a bit, I’ll be able to clean and to ready you. Forgive me if your clothes don’t perfectly match though. I’m not particularly good with colors.” And the idiot grinned, satisfied with his own joke.

“Yes, but Merlin . . .” Arthur started, trailing off. “I’m not sure your place is to be a servant anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, looking slightly hurt.

“What I mean is,” Arthur stammered, “you’re a bit . . . overqualified.”

Merlin laughed which made the king even more confused. “So losing two of my senses makes me over qualified then, does it? Should the whole city start gouging their eyes out so they might become part of the royal household?”

“No,” Arthur huffed, trying to mask a laugh. “I mean you’ve always been overqualified. Your magic, your talents, all of those stories you’ve told me; you can do far greater than serve me.”

“No,” Merlin said sternly, suddenly becoming serious. He even pulled his hand away. “No, serving you is the greatest thing I could do and I intend to do it in any and every way possible . . . and that includes washing your soiled socks!”

Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand and traced his fingers into his palm. _Fine,_ he wrote. Then, as Merlin allowed him, he brought his hand to his lips once more. “But you’ll be a member of the council as well; an advisor to the king. And we’ll have to change the laws of course.”

For a moment, Merlin looked utterly shocked, eyes going wide and lips parting open. Then, he smiled, a wide, toothy grin, so big his eyes shut with the puff of his cheeks.

“Alright,” Arthur sighed into slightly shaking fingers, “let’s go before you start crying on me.”

They continued walking; Merlin between Arthur and the wall, one hand on his master’s arm and the other on the bricks, helping him recall his way around his home. It wasn’t until the busybodies began to fill the halls that Arthur realized how different Merlin looked. Eyes seemed to stick to him as people walked pass through the corridors and, looking upon him then, Arthur could see why.

The boy’s hair was a mess. It was long and unkempt, flippantly hanging about his lashes when it fell from being pushed back off his face. Gaius seemed to have shaved him, but not as frequently as he should have, leaving his chin and jaw grey and speckled. He still had the same ridiculous smile, but it was accompanied by blank eyes. He walked differently, his feet gliding along the path as if he were reading it.

They made it to Arthur’s room with little interruption, save a few wild looks, and Arthur placed Merlin in the chair at his desk. He huffed, amused by Arthur’s assistance. Then, he took in a deep breath and began one of his many stories. “You remember when I said that I was dying? After I had been missing for a few days? Well . . .”

And Arthur sat and Arthur listened. He paid his attention and he learned. Though he gathered bits of Merlin’s life out of order, he fit them together into a new, separate story that was so outrageously heroic and powerful that it nearly felt impossible to relate it to his own tale.

When the story was finished and Arthur was left to piece them together with his own memories, the room was silent. Merlin leaned back in the chair and Arthur watched as his fingers slid up and down the smooth, finished wood. Arthur imagined that his fine, sanded chairs must feel rather boring as the lull dragged on.

“Well,” Merlin sighed, “walk me about the room. I’ll never memorize it sitting at your desk all day.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and stood beside Merlin as he wondered his chambers with groping hands. He stuck to the walls at first, feeling for Arthur’s nightstand, then his bed and his wardrobe. He passed over the door and eventually made his way to the fireplace, taking mental notes as he went along.

“This is far simpler than Gaius’s rooms,” Merlin commented as he shuffled his way towards the dining table in the center. “Not as much furniture or loose little things on the floor. I don’t know what need the man has for so many stools. It’s most commonly just him and me.”

“Does that mean you know this place like the back of your hand now?” Arthur asked sarcastically, holding Merlin’s hand to his face.

Merlin seemed confused for a moment, unable to hear Arthur’s joking manner, but seemed to eventually assume the lighthearted air and elbowed the king in the side. “No,” he huffed, fighting off a smile. “It won’t take long though. And it better be _clean_ while I’m learning it. The last thing I need is to trip over your trousers whilst trying to remember where the door is.”

“Did you just tell me that I need to clean my rooms?” Arthur questioned. “Not moments ago I believe you specified that you were very keen on keeping that job.”

“And I am,” Merlin contorted, “just . . . not quite yet.”

The door opened then and Arthur turned to find Gwaine standing in disarray, looking wide eyed at his friend. Arthur stepped forth to ask him what matter there was but the knight rushed past him and delivered Merlin a bone crushing hug, causing him to squeak and squawk in borderline terror and protest.

“Gwaine!” Arthur shouted. “Let him loose! He doesn’t know it’s you!”

“How couldn’t he?” Gwaine jeered, strewing his arm over Merlin’s shoulder with a sly grin. However, then he noticed the wide eyed look on Merlin’s face and made a move to write on the boy’s chest. He flinched before he could do so much as trace a letter and his eyes flashed gold, sending the knight _and_ the king skidding across the floor, Gwaine flying until his head knocked into the far wall.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted in shock, jumping to his feet and striding over to aid Gwaine up off the ground. The knight groaned as he attempted to stand and Arthur made haste to try and explain Merlin’s abilities to him. “Gwaine,” he said, watching the emotions in his dazed eyes very carefully, “Merlin’s been—“

There was a thump from behind him and he saw Merlin stumble onto his bottom, hands planted on the hard floor. His frightened expression spewed out a worried slur of, “Arthur,” before his breathing became labored.

Arthur cursed. “Gwaine, stay there. That’s an order.” Then, he made his way back to Merlin and gently placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. He flinched away, but held out a cautious hand to the presence beside him, portraying relief when Arthur spelled his name into his palm. “It was only Gwaine,” he spoke into Merlin’s digits once he’d gotten a hold of them.

Guilt took over Merlin’s face then. “Gwaine! Oh—I didn’t—is he alright?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” Arthur assured, merely glancing over to see if he was, in fact, conscious. “You tossed him about a bit but I think he should be fine.”

“That was . . .” Merlin breathed, barely audible. “I think . . . I’m sorry, Gwaine, I . . . Arthur . . .”

“Merlin?”

“I think . . . That was the first time I’ve used magic since . . .”

Arthur’s eyes went wide in realization. “Are you alright?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“I don’t . . . it feels weird,” Merlin replied, looking only slightly nauseous.

Arthur was about to speak again when Gwaine’s voice perpetrated the room. “It’s fine,” he grunted. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve only been assaulted by a blind, magical, madman.”

“Gwaine he’s—“

Gwaine let out all sorts of gross, strained noises as he climbed to his feet, holding his head in his hand. “I truly couldn’t care less, princess. I’m not exactly from Camelot, if you can recall. It’s not the first time I’ve been thrown about by a friend, though never one as close and charming as this one.”

“Charming?” Arthur huffed. “Gwaine you might’ve hit your head too hard. I’d hardly consider him—“

“Gwaine?” Merlin questioned as he felt the knight stagger closer, each movement vibrating through the floor.

The giddy man might have snorted and begun chatting up his friend at that moment, but the faraway look in his eyes said that something was wrong. “Should we be worried about this?” he asked Arthur. “His magic, has it . . . done something.”

Arthur leaned in and whispered into Gwaine’s ear, suddenly aware and very cautious of the open door. “He’s more powerful than he looks,” he muttered. “All that power; I would be surprised if there _wasn’t_ something wrong.”

And so, the two of them hefted Merlin up off of the ground and steered him out the door. Merlin mumbled apologies and explanations the whole way there, even after Arthur had spelled that he should remain quiet. Gaius, seemingly unsurprised that they had gotten into mischief so soon, pulled up a chair for his ward when they arrived. 

“Gwaine startled him and he sent him flying across the room,” Arthur explained. “He said it was the first time he’s used magic since he fell. He started acting strange after that.”

Gaius hummed in thought.

“What do you think?” Gwaine asked. “Have any ideas?”

“I do, in fact,” Gaius said after a short moment. He wondered over to one his work benches and began brewing up a potion as he explained. “Merlin is believed to be, by most of the Druids and other sorcerers alike, one of, if not the most powerful being of magic to have ever lived.”

“What?” Arthur and Gwaine said in unison, both fairly blown away by the revelation.

Not missing a beat, Gaius continued as if he hadn’t just delivered world shifting news. “He may have to learn new ways to channel his powers now that he cannot use visual or spoken aids. It sometimes comes as instinct to Merlin. He has, in past, done things as great as halt time on a mere whim as if it were nothing. But, that was before he had any mentoring, all of which was spell based. It would seem that, as disconnected from the world as he is, he may need to remaster some control over his powers.”

“And what of his condition?” Arthur questioned

“Ah,” Gaius said as he brought the finished remedy to his ward. “That, I believe, is merely due to the fact that he has not used his powers in so long a time.” He handed Merlin the cup and wrote into the back of his hand that he should drink it. “His magic is different than other sorcerers’. He does not have to draw power from the earth. He has magic within himself, is composed of it actually. It’s constantly brewing up inside of him. I assume it simply needed some sort of release. Stale magic, we could call it. It had been sitting anxiously inside him for some time. So, when he finally released it, it left him somewhat empty for a period.”

“Are you saying that he’s acting like this because there’s not _enough_ magic in him?” Arthur questioned incredulously.

“Indeed. Had he spent that stale power on something more monumental, he most likely would have fallen unconscious, as he has done in the past.”

“Goodness,” Arthur huffed. “There’s so much I don’t know . . . about magic and about him.”

Gaius’s lips formed a thin line and he averted his eyes. “That there is,” he admitted.

“Well,” Gwaine sighed, “it’s still early. I think I might go out for a drink to numb up this head ach I’ve gotten.”

“Gwaine,” Arthur countered, “nothing in that sentence correlated with itself.”

“Let me know when the lad wakes up, will you?” the knight asked, ignoring the king’s statement. He flashed his teeth in a wide grin as he swung the door closed.

“So, what do we do for now?” Arthur asked, after rolling his eyes at Gwaine.

“Actually,” Gaius, started, “all that needs to be done is—“

The clang of metal hitting the floor interrupted him and Arthur looked over to see that Merlin had dropped his cup and was sliding down in his seat, unconscious. “Merlin!” he called out, rushing to aid him, only to be stopped by Gaius’s aged hand.

“I’ve given him a sedative, Arthur,” Gaius assured. “All that needs to be done is to let him rest.”

Arthur looked to Merlin’s limp form hesitantly and looked to the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“He’ll only need an hour or two. So, you can return later if you wish to resume your activities,” the physician added.

“Alright,” Arthur said, standing back up. Then, he lifted Merlin into his room for the old man before leaving, followed by a string of reassuring phrases from Gaius.

When Arthur returned, Merlin had already been awake for a good deal of time, having had lunch and conversed with Gaius. He was eager to go out again and Arthur took him willingly.

 

 

They did this. Every day Arthur would come and escort Merlin about the castle, telling him where they went so that he might memorize the patterns of the many winding corridors. Some days were dull, when they would find their way to a storage closet or a vacant chamber. Other days were exciting. Merlin took great interest in the vaults, which Arthur agreed to give him free access to, explaining to his king what each object was as he let his fingers glide over them.

 

 

“We’re at the library now,” Arthur said into Merlin’s palm.

“Alright.”

“Geoffrey says hello.”

“Hello.”

“What would you like to do?”

To his surprise, Merlin frowned.

“What is it?”

“The books,” Merlin said softly, “I can’t read them, can I?”

Arthur did not answer. Never before did he realize how much he truly caught Merlin reading. “I’m sure we could find someone to recite their contents.”

Merlin allowed a small smile. “I’d like to look at them.” When Arthur didn’t reply out of confusion he continued. “Just run my fingers along the bindings, you know?”

“Alright,” Arthur said with a shrug, “but I can’t imagine why.”

Arthur followed as Merlin strolled down the rows, hand gracing the rough, leather covers of the ancient texts. It did him no good to dwell on what he used to be able to do. He knew this, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. He could overcome the speech barrier with Gaius’s strange methods of teaching but there was no way that he could ever interpret a book on his own again. He would miss the strange sensation of reading; being told so much with no one present. No longer could he learn or receive without help. Already he missed the ability.

He stopped and pulled one from its place. It was bound with a red leather, intricate patterns pressed into its soft cover. “I know this one,” he said to his king, opening the tome and sliding his digits across the musty page.

Arthur looked over his shoulder at the text. He watched as Merlin’s fingers found the edge of the page and rubbed the old parchment between them.

“What does it say?”

The question caught him off guard, but he reached for Merlin’s hand and told him. “It’s an article on Devil’s Breath. It seems to be mostly about protection and antidotes.”

Merlin hummed and slowly closed the book. “Were there any illustrations?”

“Not on that page, no.”

Again, he hummed. Once more, Arthur realized Merlin’s hands going over the indents in the binding, like he seemed to do with everything. It intrigued him. As his mind churned with ideas and curiosities, Merlin spoke up.

“Let us wish Geoffrey a good day?” he suggested, turning to his king.

Arthur squeezed his servant’s shoulder as if to encourage the notion and they began to file out of the shelves. As they emerged from the maze of books Geoffrey smiled at them. They bid their goodbyes. Merlin promised to visit despite his inability to actually use any of the books and Geoffrey promised that he was welcome.

 

“How are the lessons with Gaius going?”

“Which ones?” Merlin questioned, taking a seat by Arthur’s dinner table.

“All of them.”

Merlin sat back, letting Arthur’s hand fall out of reach. “They’re going well . . . I am having a bit of trouble with Gwaine and Leon, though. Their, uh, beards make it difficult to tell what they’re saying sometimes. Gaius thinks I’ll also be able to tell who people are by smell. I think I’ve got him and you down. Gwaine is definitely easy.” The boy smiled.

Arthur chuckled at his truthfulness. _How is it that I smell?_ he spelled into Merlin’s knee.

Merlin huffed. “You . . . You smell metallic a bit, more so when you’re wearing armor, obviously. I can usually smell your room on you, the fancy linens, the fragrance used on your royal bedsheets and clothes. And sweat. You definitely smell like sweat. It’s gross at times.”

Arthur let out a bark of a laugh.

“Gaius smells like herbs and potions. He’s got a very simple, natural scent. Gwaine is just an overwhelming stench of mead and ale. It stings my nose sometimes, actually. I think I’m getting the hang of Gwen but I wouldn’t trust myself to pick her out of a crowd just yet.” He smiled and settled further into his chair. “The magic lessons are going well. They’re much easier than anything else I’m practicing. I’m already almost back to normal, as far as my powers go.”

Then, Arthur did something that startled Merlin, something he’d never imagine the man doing in his entire life. _Show me,_ he wrote.

Merlin’s eyes went wide and his expression went blank. “What?”

Arthur smiled and brought his chair closer, bringing Merlin’s hand to his mouth. “Show me something; magic, I mean.”

Teary eyed, Merlin nodded and reclaimed his hand. After a moment’s thought he asked, “Do we have any water?”

Arthur stood and retrieved a small cup of water, placing it into Merlin’s awaiting hand.  He then sat eagerly across from his friend, leaning forwards and looking into the water expectantly.

Merlin took a deep breath and placed the cup between his knees. Then, he wrung out his hands and closed his eyes. _“Hafocfugel,”_ he murmured in a soft, hushed tone. Before the king’s eyes, a drop of water seemed to break the pristine, smooth surface of the pool within; only, instead of dropping down into the mass of liquid, it appeared to emerge from within it. The droplet accumulated itself above the cup before it began to morph and shape until it took on the likeliness of a bird. Arthur came in close and marveled at how it moved, wings beating against the air, small beads of water splaying out behind their span. It was a hawk; a hawk of a specific breed. Arthur smiled knowingly and continued to watch it fly about his head.

“Arthur?” Merlin questioned, having been left with no response.

Distractedly, the king looked back to Merlin and slowly took his hand in his. _Awe,_ he wrote, letting the boy know why he had stalled in his reaction. A jolt of excitement jolted through Merlin and he pressed his fingers to Arthur’s lips. “I have never seen magic used for something so . . . _good_ before.”

Merlin smiled at him. “But you have,” he said. “You just didn’t know I was there.”

Arthur watched his servant closely, observing as he seemed to hold back a smug expression. Then, the king let out a soft laugh. “You are right, my friend. I cannot be sorry enough. I should have noticed you . . . and, I think . . .  I think that credit is due.”


	4. Chair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur announces a few changes.

Arthur made it his responsibility to ready Merlin for the ceremony. The court and the knights did not know of Merlin’s fate; only that they would be joined by a new, noble soul. Thus, Merlin sat in Arthur’s chambers, freshly bathed, draped in fine linens, and doused in sweet fragrances. Arthur stood behind him, brandishing shears and razors. With a light touch of his finger to Merlin’s chin, the boy lifted his head, displaying his bangs before his king. Taking up the shears, Arthur slowly cut away the curls from his eyes, occasionally taking a comb and running it through his friend’s dark locks for accuracy. When he was finished, he took up the razor and held it to Merlin’s neck before gently stroking the blade up along his underjaw before proceeding to clean the rest of his face of stubble.

In the end, Merlin’s face was smooth and his thick hair was brushed back off of his face and behind his ears. Arthur took his hand and gently placed it over his lips. He explained to him then, what would be done during the ceremony, and what would be said. Merlin nodded with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face as Arthur recited his speech. Then, the king escorted Merlin to the great hall.

The council was all ready and waiting when Merlin was led in by his king. Many members of the court were confused by the boy’s fine dress whilst Merlin’s closest friends smiled knowingly at the king for his honorable decision. They all watched as Arthur positioned Merlin beside him and his wife, anxiously awaiting the king’s announcement.

Arthur stood royally, straight and tall before the court, and took a deep breath. Mentally preparing himself for the varying reactions, he announced his decision.

Recounting his experiences and mistakes over the past few months, Arthur told his subjects of what had become of Merlin and why. He relayed unto the court all of his regrets and his desires for the future. As well, he admitted to the wrongness of Uther’s laws and renounced the ban on magic. When his tale was finished, he saw that many of the council members were eyeing Merlin strangely or with hatred, disregarding his noble deeds in favor of only seeing what Uther’s blinding film of hatred would let them. Arthur paid them no mind, however, and turned to his dearest friend, receiving a reassuring smile from his wife as he did so.

Arthur placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, a cue for him to walk forwards with his king. They did so and Arthur let his hand drift down the length of Merlin’s arm before he let him go. This meant that Merlin was to kneel, and he did, bowing his head in honor of his greatest friend.

“Though Merlin’s sacrifices have taken his senses from him, they did not take his strength,” Arthur announced to the court in a hard, determined voice. “He has power beyond imaginable, both in magic and in mind, but, most importantly, in heart. Merlin is the noblest man I have ever had the privilege to know.” With that, Arthur drew his sword, smiling as it glittered in the warm light of the hall. “And that is why I, Arthur Pendragon, dub Merlin the grand shaman, groom of the stool,” he paused, looking over the gathered crowd as he prepared to deem Merlin something he had not informed him or anyone of, “and duke of Camelot!” He brought his ceremonial sword down upon Merlin’s shoulders unflinchingly even as the crowd burst with commotion and dear Gwen gasped from behind him.

Merlin stood as instructed earlier and smiled with glassy eyes, unaware of the roaring council before him. Arthur put his arm around his shoulder, looking proudly at his friend, knowing he would have to deal with his wrath later.

 

“Do you understand your new duties?” Arthur asked into Merlin’s hand later that evening as he helped the newly dubbed shaman prepare for the celebration.

“Aren’t I to do all that I have already done regardless?” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur nodded, straightening the warlock’s collar whilst struggling to look at Merlin’s attire through his outstretched arm. “And then some.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Well,” the king began guiding Merlin to a chair and sitting down beside him, “as groom of the stool, you are my private confident. I may share any secret with you and trust that it shall remain as such; a secret. You are, in other words, in charge of my bedchambers. You decide who is to clean and to care to it. Whenever we are in this room, all conversations are private.”

Merlin hummed in understanding.

“As grand shaman . . . well, it isn’t exactly an official status quite yet, but you will be in charge of all magical affairs, unless your decision is overridden by someone of higher standing, like Guinevere or myself.”

“Alright,” Merlin agreed.

“And, as duke . . .”

“What?” Merlin said, sitting up straight and grabbing at Arthur’s wrist. He could feel Arthur bite his lip. He scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me.”

“Because I knew you would refuse!” Arthur argued.

Merlin turned his head more towards Arthur. “Yes! I would have! You know I don’t want that!”

“Listen,” Arthur tried to coax, “it’s just a title. You are now above any man in Camelot. I don’t want the people to think that they can pass judgment on you. Gwen, I, and our future heir will still be above you, there’s no way that you’d ever—“

“Wait,” Merlin interrupted, swallowing. “So, if you and Gwen . . .”

Arthur nodded into Merlin’s hand. “You would be sovereign prince.”

Merlin visibly paled. Then, with a disapproving air, he turned away from Arthur, letting his hand fall way from the king’s mouth.

“Merlin, please,” Arthur pled futilely, trying and failing to reach for his hand. But Merlin balled them into fists and refused to feel him speak.

“You _know_ I barely even wanted any titles, Arthur. I don’t need this,” he said, stretching his arms away from his royal grasp. “Besides, aren’t dukes meant to be hereditary? I’m hardly allowed to be deemed as such, am I? I suppose you’ll just have to revoke my title,” Merlin argued with a smile and short breath as he felt Arthur’s weight on his chest, climbing over him to try and grab one of his hands.

In his struggle, the chair tipped over and Merlin fell backward, his eyes going wide. Arthur toppled over him, rolling onto the floor. He crawled back over to Merlin, breathing heavily, and snatched up one of his hands, bringing it to his face. “Oh well,” he huffed, smiling at his own victory. But Merlin didn’t respond. He didn’t even move and his hand felt limp in Arthur’s grip.

Panicked, Arthur scrambled and knelt over Merlin. Softly, he shook him by the shoulder, but his half lidded eyes didn’t so much as flicker. Then, his own heart pounding, he pressed his fingers to Merlin’s neck to feel his pulse.

Holding his breath, he waited for a sign of life, only to be greeted by a mischievous smile and the small rumble of laughter. Arthur sat back on his heels and smacked Merlin playfully on the side of the head. “Oh! You idiot! You had me scared to death!” Arthur yelled. Though Merlin could not hear him, he guesses what the rumble in Arthur’s chest is about, feeling it as he pressed against him to escape his accusing smacks.

 

Still trying to recover from their laughter, they arrived at the feast together. Arthur lead Merlin to his seat before taking his own, the queen on his left and shaman on his right. It feels right to be sitting between the two most important people in his life, both of them ruling beside him.

Arthur sees to a toast in honor of Merlin, Guinevere, and his loyalists of knights. All of his subjects stand. Merlin, having felt the movement in the room, tilted his head in question. To which, Arthur placed his goblet in his hands. Merlin understood and joined them in standing. Then, unified, all who were present took a sip of their wine before cheering for their newfound shaman.

Merlin is beside himself when food is offered to him. Not only could he not see where his food was, but there was an overwhelming mixture of aromas. Normally, when Gaius would lay down soup before him, he could tell that it had arrived, the steam rising into the air. But now, there was so strong a stench of fine eatery, that he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone was holding up a prized, steamed turkey over his head.

 _What’s wrong?”_ Arthur spelled into his shoulder upon seeing his furrowed brow.

“I don’t know where . . .” Merlin started, trailing off, feeling embarrassed. He bowed his head. “I can’t tell where the food is or what’s been served,” he mumbled.

Arthur frowned and patted his friend on the back before taking one of Merlin’s hands in his own. Slowly, he brought it to the main dish in front of him. _That is the meat. It’s duck,_ he wrote into Merlin’s shoulder with his other hand. He gently placed Merlin’s fingers on the edge of a warm bowl. _The soup._ Then another. _Pastries._ And another. _Fruits._ And so on until he told him of the pudding.

Merlin smiled bashfully as he took up his utensils. Arthur brought his free hand to lips before he could begin eating. “If you wish, it can be arranged in the same way at each feast,” he whispered into Merlin’s palm. “That way, you shall always know without aid.”

“I would like that,” Merlin admitted shyly, not wishing to receive special treatment. His hand was forced, however; he may not want it, but he did need it.

Merlin spent the rest of the feast with a smile stuck between his cheeks. He enjoyed the succulent food, most of which he had never been granted the opportunity to taste before. Many of his friends passed by his chair, speaking to him with messages of congrats and updates on their lives. Arthur would occasionally take up his hand and tell him something that had happened at another part of the room.

When the celebrations came to an end, Arthur escorted Merlin out through the crowd. As they passed through the corridors, Merlin felt someone hook their foot around his ankle and then suddenly his world was spinning. He stumbled, trying to right himself, arms flying out before latching onto Arthur’s sleeve. The king’s other hand came up and abruptly stopped him, making him feel nauseous. Hurriedly, Arthur walked him onwards, ushering him along with a hand to his back.

“Who was that?” Merlin asked quietly after a few moments.

Arthur didn’t answer, only quickened his pace.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked tentatively as he was nudged into Arthur’s chambers. The king let go of him and Merlin could only assume that he had begun to pace. A slender hand on his shoulder made him jump and he became aware of Gwen’s company for the first time. She brought his hand to her lips.

“It was Lord Malcom, he—“

Arthur snatched his hand away from Gwen, making Merlin flinch. He had to concentrate to feel what Arthur was saying, he talked so fast. “He is no lord to me any longer! He doesn’t even deserve to be a serf! He’s distastefully disrespected someone of higher ranking than him and he shall be punished—revoked of his title! And don’t you dare try to pardon him, Merlin! Even if you show Mercy, he has, by disrespecting you, in turn disrespected me and my decision as king!”

“Arthur,” Merlin argued, trying to follow after him as he stormed further into his chambers, “you must practice some patience and . . . leniency. You were once in a similar state if mind as he. Magic is new and frightening to these people and you must give them time to learn of its neutrality.”

Again, his hand was snatched up by the king. “It still remains that he has stooped to low levels— _tripping_ a new member of the court like a jealous child! He disrespected you! This isn’t out of fear! You didn’t see his face! This is out of utter ignorance and refusal! I might have not understood magic but I respected the Druids! I met them courtly and battled with honor against them!”

Merlin’s breathing began to quicken as he struggled to both understand Arthur’s rant and take in all that was being said. He figured Gwen must have tried to intervene because he could feel Arthur looking over his shoulder at the queen. His grip was tight around his wrist and it made him squirm; that he had caused such uproar within the court and between the royal couple. Gwen placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Merlin’s eyes glazed over with guilt and woe.

“Yes, but you had to learn that respect! Surely, _Uther_ hadn’t advised you to make peace with the Druids! Surely, _he_ did not show honor when he slaughtered children and destroyed families! You had to develop and learn before you were able to see the human in those your father treated as monsters! These people, _your people,_ need that time as well! Do not strip a man down to worthless for one, naive act of prejudice!”

“He tried to humiliate you!” Arthur shouted. Merlin could feel his hot, angry breath on his hand. “Not only did he blatantly ignore your status, but he used your _blindness_ against you to make you seem like the fool! He acts in cowardice!”

Somewhere along the line, the dam broke and Merlin felt Arthur’s breath falter as the king noticed the tears leaking through Merlin’s defenses. Gwen’s grip was tight on his shoulder and Arthur’s was loose about his joint. Taking a shuddering breath, he continued his argument. “And, when you left me—when you left me to _die_ because you were too _afraid_ of what magic could do, of what few out of many had done with it, was that not in cowardice? Did that not leave me humiliated? You speak of disrespect because a noble merely acted out against change, when you let the past blind you so much that I was left for _dead!_ You wanted me _dead,_ Arthur! And now . . . now you’re trying to make up for by punishing people who think the same as you had . . .” Merlin’s words faded into hiccupping breaths. Arthur’s hand was frozen, cupping his wrist and Gwen had pulled away, either to cover her mouth or leave the scene, Merlin guessed. As he shook and wept, he wished that Arthur would move, that he would say something. Merlin felt alone for a long moment and he would have held his breath if he wasn’t so devastated. Part of him, for once, wanted to be left alone, wanted to be abandoned in his dark, silent world, because he was afraid, petrified of what would happen next.

The king’s hand slowly fell away from him, abandoning him in the void, making him feel incredibly isolated and vulnerable. Then, nearly startling Merlin out of his skin, trembling arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as if Arthur was afraid that Merlin would fall again, right through the floor, never to be seen again. His own limbs shaking, he held Arthur in return. He could feel him muttering apologies into his shoulder, causing his heart to flood with guilt and woe and regrets, burning like boiling water inside his chest.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Arthur pulled away, looking intensely into Merlin’s unseeing eyes, gripping his shoulders firmly. His hands slid down Merlin’s arms until he cradled one of his hands. _So sorry,_ he spells. _I have wronged you. I have hurt you for life. I have—_

Merlin balled his hand into a fist, holding Arthur’s firmly. “Don’t do this,” he breathed through his tears. “Don’t . . . Just let me forgive you.”

He let Arthur write again. _How could you?_

“Because you have forgiven me.”

 

Gwen eventually took them both by shoulder and lead them to the table where all three of them could calm themselves. Merlin seemed to be half asleep, nodding off every few moments. Gwen was visibly shaken by the ordeal, especially Merlin’s horrid but true accusations against the king. Merlin could even sense her unease. Arthur was exhausted as well, but he knew sleep was far from him, his own wrongdoings churning uncomfortably in his mind.

Gwen poured some cool water into glasses, Merlin being blind and Arthur too shaken, to hopefully help draw them out of their stupor. Merlin seemed uninterested, only seeming to occasionally bring the cup to his lips without actually drinking from it. Arthur took large gulps, trying to wash away the lump in his throat. Gwen took small, frequent sips, monitoring her husband and friend.

As they calmed, Arthur slumped over in his chair, resting his head on the table. Blinking his bleary eyes, he looked up past his folded arms, noting how tired his friend looked. Then, he rolled his head to the side to look at his queen. “You better take him home,” he uttered.

Wordlessly, Gwen agreed, standing and taking Merlin by the hand. Groggily, Merlin followed, shuffling behind her as she guided him. Arthur watched as he was taken home to slumber, hopefully wishing that he would rest easier than he would.

 

When Merlin woke, his head ached and his eyes burned. He rubbed at them furiously and mentally berated himself. Gaius had warned him about sleeping with his eyes open, but he didn’t always realize that he was doing so, and last night’s distractions hadn’t helped him any. After avoiding a lecture from Gaius, he slipped out of the physician’s chambers, not wanting to sit and groan whilst Gaius tutted into his hand.

He’d come a long way since his trauma, now able to walk to select locations without aid. He knew how to get to Arthur’s chambers easily. The kitchens, the great hall, and the throne room are simple as well, not to mention Gaius’s chambers, his usual point of reference. There were a few other places he could get to if he trailed his hand along the wall. Otherwise, he preferred to be lead or accompanied, lest he get lost in his own home. He didn’t trust himself outside. There weren’t as many familiar landmarks for him to anchor onto and far too much open space that was difficult to navigate, not to mention the scores of people hustling and bustling this way and that.

He shook these thoughts from his head as he came close to the king’s chambers. He briefly acknowledged that he was recalling his memorized routes primarily to rid his mind of memories pertaining to the night before. He hoped that, if he acted as though the matter was not so serious, it would be as such. It’s not that he didn’t mean what he had said. Arthur’s actions _were_ cowardice, but Merlin didn’t blame him. The king had been victim to much trauma involving magic. It was only natural that he would react to it negatively. He could only be glad that the king was noble and understanding enough to demand an apostasy in amends to his errors and misjudgment.

 

“Enter,” Arthur called out upon hearing a soft knock on his chamber door.

He looked to his wife when nothing happened. She offered him a thin lipped smile as he clambered to his feet. “Must be Merlin,” he muttered.

Opening the door, he welcomed Merlin inside.

Merlin fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as Arthur guided him in, his hand cold as he pressed on. He felt Arthur ask, _Have you eaten?_ into the small of his back. When he replied in the negative, the king sat him down and offered him a plate of fruits, leftover from his own meal. After a moment of trepidation, Merlin began to pick at the berries and slices that were given to him.

He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the plate, a grape loose in his grip. “Hello, Gwen,” he said.

The queen looked to her husband with wide, bewildered eyes.

“Your perfume,” Arthur quickly explained.

Gwen rested her hand on Merlin’s shoulder in greeting, looking impressed with his enhanced, remaining senses.

“Come on,” Arthur said into Merlin’s somewhat sticky fingers once he was finished eating. “We want to show you something.”

Scoffing at the king’s choice of words, sarcastically wondering to himself how exactly anything could ever be _shown_ to him again, Merlin stood and let his king and queen guide him from the room.

They didn’t go far.

“Where are we?” Merlin questioned, confused as to why they had only moved a small ways down the hall before stopping and stepping into another room.

He was left unanswered and, somewhat irritated with the lack of communication, allowed Arthur to walk him further inside.  He stopped him a little ways into the room and brought his hand to his lips.

“This was . . . Merlin, we were meaning to give this to you yesterday, but then . . . Well, anyways, I know I can’t right what I did wrong . . . You were right; I was a fool and a coward and I . . . I’ve been thinking a lot about what my mistakes have done to you . . . nothing I can possibly do can make up for what I did, and I’m beyond sorry . . .” Arthur took a deep breath and Merlin closed his eyes as guilt tickled his mind. “I was just thinking, with your new status and all . . . you deserve more than this, I know, but there isn’t any gift that could equal all that you have given me over the years . . . so . . .”

“Arthur, you’re babbling more than I do,” Merlin joked. He felt Arthur smile. “Honestly, it’s hard to concentrate on what you’re saying.”

“Sorry,” Arthur huffed. “As I was saying, these are . . . these are your new chambers.”

Merlin froze, shuddering at the unfamiliar space around him; the void that he had yet to commit to sensual memory. “My . . . chambers—what?”

“You’re of an incredibly high ranking now, Merlin, and this is closer to where you’ll be performing your duties.”

“I . . . what about Gaius, and my things? I . . .”

“Gaius can have all that he wants, and your belongings can be brought up here easily enough.”

“I don’t know . . . Thank you! Of course, I’m grateful, but . . .”

“You don’t have to take it, honestly. However, I do wish to give you this, regardless of where you lay.” Arthur took Merlin by the shoulders and maneuvered him over before gently coaxing him into a sitting position.

A chill went up Merlin’s spine as he was seated, sinking into the chair that seemed to give only slightly, enough to curve comfortably about him. He leaned back, hands on his lap, and let out a breath. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. It was an incredibly comfortable chair and smelled of freshly carved wood.

But Arthur brought his hands away from his lap and lifted them up, resting them gently on the arm rests.

Merlin felt tears prick at his eyes as he felt the small, intricate details carved into the wood; small images of animals, beasts, and people, all only about the size of his fingertip. He wedged his digits along the varying indents whilst his heart fluttered wildly about in his chest. Suddenly, he lifted one hand, holding it out to where he believed Arthur to be standing.

With a smile, Arthur explained, “I saw the way you always touched things, like you were deciphering them. So, I had this made for you, hiring the best whittlers, carvers, and craftsmen to perfect it.”

Gwen came and rested her hands gingerly on Merlin’s shoulder as he continued to rub at a small section of the carvings.

“Each one is different,” Arthur elaborated. “I figured it’d make your time less boring.”

Forgetting about the chair and yet thinking only of it and what it meant, Merlin launched onto his feet and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck, crying into the king’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Thank you, Arthur. I’m so sorry for what I said last night. I never . . . you’re not a coward—you had every right to—“

“No,” Arthur said, and Merlin could tell just by the rumble in his chest. He offered his shaking hand. “I had absolutely _no_ right to leave you there.” He then crushed Merlin in a tight embrace, thanking destiny, fate, or whatever cruel power there was for having the smallest bit of mercy and letting Merlin live.


	5. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old enemy is finally dragged to his knees and Merlin is getting used to his predicament.

Merlin did end up accepting the room, though he rarely slept in it. He turned it into his own little study where he could safely store his magical artifacts and focuses, as well as begin proper research on the properties of different potions, enchantments, and spells. Gaius had even gotten him an array of corks for any vials or beakers he wished to store so that he could carve symbols or letters into the tops of them to make it easier to identify what each one was.

Months went by and things seemed to settle. Most people who objected to Merlin’s new position or the peace made with magic simply ignored him or spread preposterous rumors that wiser men couldn’t even think to believe. There were small incidents of course; occasion when people would try to trip the grand shaman or steal from him. Often they were terrified of Merlin, for sometimes he could sense their treachery and would swat their thieving hands away or step over their extended foot. Most mishaps seemed to cease altogether, however, when rumor claimed that he had been the one to vanquish Morgana.

Arthur was thankful that Merlin couldn’t see the cautious and wary faces of some passersby. Though most citizens of Camelot seemed to praise Merlin’s acts against the witch, many also feared him, wondering if he had killed her because he wished to be the one who ruled Albion. The king knew that this was far from the case, Merlin refusing to even talk about the possibility of him running a kingdom.

Surprising everyone but Gaius, Merlin seemed to forget that he was both deaf and blind, going about his day as any other abled man in Camelot. Gaius had said hopeful things in the beginning, going on and on about how Merlin would become accustomed to his disabilities, but it had seemed so hopeless at the time. Now, the boy was rushing about the castle as if nothing had changed. By now, people knew to keep an eye out for him, everyone stepping out of his way to be sure he had a clear path.

 

In fact, on one of those days, when he’s fussing about, gathering things for himself and his king, he rushed down the halls, following a young, deaf boy through the halls. He had offered to help Merlin for the day, as many of the disabled children did; enjoying his company and gathering strength to battle their own loss of senses upon seeing Merlin’s grand adaptations. They were headed to Gaius’s quarters to receive a remedy for the queen, who was suffering from a terribly persistent headache.

Joseph, the boy, was running ahead a little, eager to meet with Gaius, who was kind to them and a newfound professional entertainer of small children.

Merlin could feel the boy passing ahead of him and smiled at his eagerness. He picked up his pace some so that he wouldn’t be too far behind, but didn’t hurry too much, knowing that running wasn’t the best idea when you couldn’t see where you were going.

However, he was still walking far too fast to stop himself from hustling right smack into someone. Bumping against a built chest, he stumbled backward. “Sorry, sorry. I was—Joseph ran ahead and I—“

Something hard collided with his jaw and he faltered on his feet before regaining his balance. He furrowed his brow. “What are you—“

Again, he was shoved in the chest by a prodding finger. He held one hand to his throbbing bruise and extended the other with hopes of communication. “Please, I—“

A large, firm hand grasped his wrist and twisted it. He cried out before being thrown to the ground. A foot planted itself on the center of his chest and he grunted, trying to lessen the pressure by holding the boot up off of his flesh. “Get off,” he wheezed, but all that was returned was more pressure.

Then, suddenly the weight was removed and he was left breathless on the floor. Taking a few moments to catch his breath, he sat up, leaning against the wall.

Someone gripped the hems of his jacket and made him jump, but these hands were small and frantic. “Joseph,” he whispered in relief, hugging the boy close, trying to subdue the worried rumble of words he could feel through the child’s tiny chest. “It’s alright,” he soothed, wishing to calm him before finding out what had happened.

 

“Stop!” Arthur shouted, instantly racing towards the man who had thrown his servant to the ground. His heart pounding with rage, he approached the visiting noble.

“Ah! Arthur!” Lord Hankin called. “You’re just in time! This subsequent whelp just plowed right through me! Then, he had the _nerve_ to—“

“Hankin!” the king bellowed, the fire in his chest rising as his eyes lit up with fury.

“Milord?” the noble questioned, genuinely confused at his highness’s outburst.

“Are you aware of _whom_ exactly you are _treading on?”_

It was then that Merlin tried to remove the burden from his breast. “Get off.”

Lord Hankin scowled down at him, pressing his boot into his ribs. Then, his frown remained as he looked back up at Arthur. “The palace fool?”

Arthur looked around, biting his lip. By now, a cluster of servants and a select few knights had stopped in their daily rush, afraid to interrupt the confrontation. Merlin let out a soft wheeze and the king was suddenly aware of how much pressure Lord Hankin was putting onto Merlin. Anger flared anew inside of him and he kicked the lord in the shin before putting himself between Hankin and his shaman.

Lord Hankin cursed and regained his footing. “What is the meaning of this?”

Arthur squared up to him, looking down his nose at the suddenly wary eyes of Hankin. “That _fool_ you just harassed is the most powerful sorcerer in all the five kingdoms and you should count yourself lucky that he is a gentle minded man else he could have had you pressing that boot into your own chest and through your heart more swiftly than the finest blade,” Arthur spat, nodding down to the leather shoe that had been pressing down on the lad in question.

His ego having shriveled down to nothing, the man babbled for a moment before sputtering a nonsensical apology. Arthur held his hand up, having none of it. “Guards, let us see how fine his linens truly are by seeing if they can keep from fraying whilst being pelted with varying arrays of rotted fruits.”

Percival and another guard smirked as they took up the lord by his arms and escorted him to the stocks. The ignorant noble spouting accusations mingled in with halfhearted clemencies all the way.

The king turned instantly to Merlin once Hankin was taken care of, finding him with an armful of a tearful Joseph. Arthur knelt down beside them, placing a hand on either of their shoulders. Merlin stilled and loosened his hold on the boy. He clasped his head in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye after rubbing away a few stray tears. “I am fine, Joseph,” he whispered, knowing that he could read lips if he spoke animatedly enough. “Go on ahead and tell Gaius that we are coming.”

Arthur watched as the boy tugged at Merlin’s sleeve, bringing his hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he cried, far too loud and barely coherent. “I ran ahead! I’m sorry, sorry!”

Merlin pressed a finger to his lips. “It is not your fault,” he promised. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, the boy climbed out of his lap and scurried past the small crowd to alert the physician of his oncoming company.

Then, Merlin turned to Arthur, holding out his hand. “What happened?” he asked, knowing it was the king who had knelt beside him.

“Lord Hankin,” Arthur ground out into Merlin’s fingers. “He’s only here to discuss border disputes between him and Diot. He didn’t seem to know about you; probably had his head stuck too far up hi—“

“What did you do?”

“Since he disgraced you, I treated him just a lowly.”

“Meaning?” Merlin questioned, taking a deep breath.

“He’s in the stocks for the time being. A suitable punishment, I think.”

Despite being blind, Merlin still had one deadly glare. Not even managing to aim his eyes directly at Arthur, the king could still see the disapproval clearly in his expression.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Arthur huffed. “You know I could have done worse.” He looked Merlin over, noting the fresh bruise on his jawline and the way he stressed to breathe. “We better get you do Gaius, have him look you over.”

The king stood back and gave Merlin a hand in standing. “I’m fine,” he wheezed, stumbling slightly as he righted himself. Despite his claim, he allowed Arthur to escort him to the physician’s chambers without breath of protest.

When they arrived, Gaius was coddling a red faced Joseph, who seemed to finally have calmed down. Gently coaxing the boy into sitting aside, Gaius looked over Merlin with a trained eye.

“He might be off balance for a few hours,” Gaius told Arthur, “and his jaw will be sore, for sure. Otherwise, he should be fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Arthur replied.

Merlin let out a small laugh and the king turned to see him help Joseph up into his lap. Gaius walked passed him and placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“I was coming to fetch a remedy for Gwen’s headache,” Merlin said, seeming to have suddenly remembered.

Arthur scoffed and shook his head. The boy truly lacked concern for himself.

Gaius squeezed his shoulder in reply before rummaging through his cabinets for some relief. He brought it back to Merlin before turning to Arthur once more.

“Take Joseph home, if you will. I’ll keep Merlin here to rest for the remainder of the day.”

“You know best,” Arthur huffed before coaxing Joseph out of Merlin’s hold, explaining to him that his mother would be expecting him soon. He cringed as he realized that he would have to tell to the woman what had happened during his time with Merlin. He doubted she would allow him to visit ever again. Silently, he promised to do his best in persuading her in letting him return.

 

Joseph was eventually permitted to take his place by Merlin’s side and Arthur was glad to hear that he was even considering making him his apprentice. From what he could tell, however, Joseph had no signs of being able to use magic, but Merlin believed that he would excel in the medical arts. He’d have to wait until the boy was older, of course, but, until then, it was a pleasure to have him around.

Arthur decided that he would be incredibly judgmental of anyone who abused or manipulated Merlin in any way. After Lord Hankin left the city, the king held a feast in spite of him, claiming it was, in fact, being held in celebration of the healthy crops that season.

 

On one particularly humid day in Camelot, Arthur awoke with an aching head. He messaged his temple as he sat up, noting that it was a bit late and that Merlin should have come to wake him by now.

Stretching, he lumbered across the room to the door to his antechamber, which was between Merlin’s chambers and his own. After passing through the vacant room, he found his shaman, sat in his strange looking chair, facing the window.

He made to sure that his feet fell heavily with each step so that Merlin would feel him coming. With luck, he did so and smiled. “Arthur,” he said, “I was just about to come and wake you.”

The king came from behind him and took his hand from the arm rest. “You’re late,” he spoke into it.

Merlin huffed. “Did you expect me to be on time? When have I ever?”

Arthur laughed quietly. Then, he looked down to Merlin’s other hand and the way it kept tracing one of the carvings. He leaned forwards to get a better look. “A bear?” he noted into Merlin’s hand.

His fingers stopped and hovered over the incisions as a small smile played its way onto his lips. “Yeah,” he replied. “A bear . . . It’s my favorite one.”

Arthur smiled but, before he could say anything more, the warning bell rang.

Merlin tensed as he felt Arthur grip his hand. “What is it?”

The door to his chambers was thrown open, the clash of it against the wall making Merlin jump. Gwaine stood in the entrance, eyes wide. “Arthur!”

“What’s happened, Gwaine?” the king asked. Merlin could feel him turn towards the door through the way his hold on his wrist shifted.

“It’s Agravaine,” Gwaine panted, “we found him.”

Arthur released Merlin’s hand and strode across the room. “By whom?”

“Sirs Leon and Gaheris,” he reported. “They haven’t—“

“What is happening?” Merlin demanded from across the room, having stood and faced the door. His expression was determined, but Arthur could tell he was struggling to keep his composure. The king bit his lip, feeling guilty for leaving Merlin in the blind.

He looked to Gwaine and they exchanged culpable glances. Then, Arthur returned to his shaman and look up his hand. “They found Agravaine,” he whispered.

Merlin froze, letting his hand fall back to his side. With a shaking voice, he said, “What?”

 

 

Arthur fought the urge to pace as he waited for Leon to bring the prisoner before the throne. Gwen worried at her lip beside him, palms clammy with nervousness. Merlin stood a ways to his right, Elyan holding his hand to his lips, ready to act as his interpreter when the company arrived.

The grand doors slowly opened as Leon dragged a bound and gagged Agravaine into the hall. Forced onto his knees, the haggard man looked up at the king through stringy hair. His eyes widened at the sight of Merlin alive and breathing. He began to struggle in his restraints, but Leon gripped his arm with such force that he winced and relented.

“Remove his gag,” Arthur ordered. He glanced to his side to see if Elyan was performing his duties correctly. To his expectation, the knight had begun to whisper the goings on into Merlin’s fingers.

Leon tore the cloth from the man’s mouth and he spit at the floor. He breathed heavily, his chest heaving with great effort.

The king looked down at his wild eyes, giving him a disgraceful stare. “Sir Leon,” he prompted.

“He was on the border, sire,” he reported. “We found him traveling between Camelot and Lot’s land.”

“Lot’s land is far north, is it not?” Arthur questioned.

Leon shook his head. “Lot invaded Cenred’s land after his death. He reigns there now, milord.”

Arthur nodded. “Of course. Desperate for another alliance, Agravaine?”

“No, my liege,” Agravaine denied, shaking his head frantically. “I only wished to seek housing there, I swear on it.”

Arthur considered him. It was clear that, without his mistress, the man was nothing. He was afraid of Arthur now, having no influence over him any longer. “Are you aware of the crimes you have committed against my kingdom?”

“Crimes, milord?”

“Indeed,” Arthur said as he began to pace. “You, Agravaine, are charged with treason for conspiring with a known enemy of Camelot as well as making an attempt on the life of my men, Merlin, and I.”

“It was in Morgana’s bidding, milord! I myself intended no ill will! You must consider this, I beg of you!” Agravaine pled, eyes crazed and petrified.

“And what is it that Morgana had held over your head that tempted you so wholly to betray your kingdom?”

“It was—it was my life! Milord!”

It wasn’t difficult to call his bluff. Arthur raised a brow. “Was it?”

“I would not lie to you now, milord,” the defendant breathed.

“Regardless,” Arthur said, entirely aware of the man’s lies, “I cannot excuse the crimes that have been committed.”

“All I can ask is for some mercy, milord,” Agravaine whimpered.

Arthur paused in his pacing, stopping to face the accused. “Perhaps,” he offered, “if you told me the truth of your betrayal.”

Agravaine visibly deflated. “How so, milord?”

“What is it that Morgana used to hold sure to your loyalty?”

The guilty hung his head. “She bribed me, milord.”

“With what?” Arthur demanded.

“Herself,” he replied in a low, shameful voice.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What . . . ?”

“As I recall, sire,” Merlin spoke suddenly, “Morgana was of admirably fair skin and stature.”

“What of it?” the king questioned.

He looked pointedly at Merlin, waiting for Elyan to finish reciting his words to him, but the boy merely gulped and hung his head, unwilling to elaborate. He then turned to Gwen, who had a horrified look on her face. Suddenly feeling nauseous as he understood the implications of Merlin’s words, he looked back at the demented man before him, fining his dark eyes boring into his image.

Clenching his fists, he looked away from him. “Put him in the dungeons. He will find out his fate come morning.”

Shaken, Agravaine let the guards take him away.

 

 

The sky was still grey as the haggard man was led out to the chopping block. The crowd was alive with whispers of what had happened to the trustworthiness the king’s uncle once held. The kingdom’s rulers and their shaman stood above on the high terrace, observing the scene. Arthur held Merlin’s hand in his, ready to signal to him when the axe fell.

Surprisingly, Agravaine accepted defeat, seeming to have lost all hope upon receiving his sentence. He knew of his wrongdoing and, without a sorceress to draw him back to safety, there was no point in fighting. He had no advantage. The battle was lost.

The kingdom seemed to hold its breath as the executioner lifted his blade, leaving it hanging in the air for a long, exhilarating moment. Then, Arthur crushed Merlin’s hand in his as the axe came down upon the traitor’s neck, the resounding thud echoing through the city before giving in to a silence as absolute as Merlin’s world had become.

 

 

“That’s . . . not what I’m wearing tonight,” Arthur said, stepping towards where Merlin was holding out a rather worn, hideous robe. Arthur took it from his hands, causing the boy’s brow to furrow, before replacing it with his newly tanned jacket.

Merlin, realizing his mistake, blushed and proceeded to help Arthur into it. They were preparing themselves for a spring feast, celebratory of the time of rebirth.

Arthur finally pulled his gloves snug around his fingers before taking Merlin’s arm and leading him out to meet Gwen in the corridor so they might walk to the feast together. In companionable silence they strolled through the halls, both queen and king with an arm hooked about one of Merlin’s elbows.

They arrived to an audience of thankfully cheery faces and the aroma of fine foods. Merlin’s mouth watered as he was seated before the feast, stomach turning with anticipation.

After a few minutes, once everything was settled, Arthur tapped Merlin twice on his left shoulder, prompting him to stand and hold out his glass for a toast. He waited, with his hand outstretched and Arthur’s grip warm on his shoulder, reciting the toast Arthur had relayed onto him the night before inside his mind; a speech of oaths and good health. Only once the king’s hand left his shoulder did he bring his goblet to his lips.

He froze, the edge of the cup pressed against his lips as a shiver ran up his spine. He stuck his hand out to his side, grasping franticly for his master’s glass.

“Merlin, what—“

The warlock found the goblet and placed his hand over the brim, stopping Arthur from taking a sip. “That’s not wine,” he whispered.

Startled, Arthur smelled his drink. Brow furrowed, he turned to Gwen, who thankfully had not taken a sip out of concern. Taking up Merlin’s hand, he said, “Merlin, it smells fine.” He glanced around at the others present in the hall, most of which were too busy celebrating to notice the turmoil at the head of the table.

“No, it doesn’t,” Merlin hissed insistently.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Arthur sought out Gaius. Finding the physician’s eye, he noticed that the old man had been watching their wary conversation and beckoned him forth.

“What is it, sire?” he asked.

“Merlin thinks there’s something wrong with the wine.”

Gaius took the glass from his king and sniffed it. “There doesn’t seem to be anything foreign in the drinks.”

Arthur huffed. The king still having his hand up to his mouth, Merlin felt it. “Someone’s done something to it, I know it. It smells . . . It just doesn’t smell like wine, alright?”

Sharing a concerned look with Arthur and Gwen, Gaius dipped the tip of his finger into the drink and brought it to his lips. Lapping up the single drop, he started, looking at Merlin with bewilderment.

“What is it, Gaius?” Arthur questioned. Merlin tensed.

“It’s monkshood, sire.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive, but the scent of the wine should have deluded it. Merlin, how did you—?”

“We need to tell the people to drop their drinks!” Gwen interrupted with great urgency, turning to face the audience.

 

 

“And you’re sure no one else was poisoned?” Arthur questioned.

“Yes, milord,” Gaius answered. “All of the drinks were checked. The only traces of it were in your cups.”

“Good . . . What about Merlin?”

“What about him, sire?”

“How did he smell the monkshood? You said—“

“It is my belief, sire, that Merlin’s senses of smell, taste, and touch have been heightened.”

“How so?”

“There have been accounts of men going blind only to find that their hearing has improved. It’s commonly thought to be because the mind no longer has to focus on the sense of sight and so is able to strengthens the remaining senses.”

“So Merlin has . . . magic nostrils . . .”

A bemused smile crept onto Gaius’s face. “If you wish to put it that way.”

Arthur scoffed. “Leave it to him . . .”

“I’m back,” Merlin said as he walked into the room.

Arthur met him and touched his arm to let him know that he was there.

“They found her,” he told them. “It was a witch whose grandmother was killed during the Purge. She said we did too little too late.”

“We couldn’t have done anything back then,” Arthur spoke into Merlin’s hand.

“I know . . .” Merlin cleared his throat before taking a seat alongside his king and his mentor. He smiled at Gaius, suddenly catching the scent of worn books and stale herbs.

“We were just children . . .” Arthur mused absentmindedly into Merlin’s fingers.

“I’m tired of people blaming you for what your father did,” Merlin huffed.

“All they want is someone to blame, Merlin. With the criminal gone, all they have left to take their anger out on is us.”

“They _should_ be taking it out on Morgana. She prolonged Uther’s hatred and . . . kept yours intact.”

Arthur cringed. Merlin felt it.

“Sorry.”

“No grudges here,” Arthur amended.

Gaius reached for Merlin’s free hand then, bringing it to his old, dry lips. “Regardless of what the people say now, there will always be those who do not agree with you.”

“Even when we’re right,” Merlin cut in.

Gaius continued as though he hadn’t heard. “As long as the two of you – and Guinevere – hold no future qualms then all that can be done has been done. There’s no telling what that future may hold; that is, until you decide what you want to do with it.”

Merlin harrumphed, having heard plenty enough destiny talk in his time to let the words pass over him. Arthur, however, pondered these musings of the days to come. Looking down at his ferociously stubborn friend – who kept on kicking despite being left for dead, betrayed, and stricken deaf and blind – and smiled. Arthur would hold no qualms regarding his future decisions, especially considering what he had in plan for his dearest friend.


End file.
